


Tell me a story (where we all change)

by Akira14



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 9,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira14/pseuds/Akira14
Summary: Answers to Tumblr prompts and for Maritombola (mostly AU, hence the title of the collection)1 (ENG): Nicotino HDM!AU2 (ENG): Nicotino HDM!AU3 (ITA): La gricia di Luchì (Nicotino)4 (ENG): Niccolò learning to cook for Marti5 (ITA): Marti è pessimo con le sorprese6 (ENG): Post break up drabble (S4)7 (ENG): The night is still young, but the worst is over.  (Nicotino)8 (ENG): Niccolò still doesn't know shit ;)9 (ENG): Nicotino Instragram!AU10 (ENG): Nicotino iZombie!AU11 (ENG): Martino in the wrong universe AU12 (ITA):  Marti, Nico e i giochi di società13 (ENG): Nicotino (WINTER!AU)14 (ITA): Niccolò il vampiro emofobo (Nicotino)15 (ENG): Inception!AU (Fluff)16 (ITA): Inception!AU (Angst)17 (ENG): PushingDaises!AU18 (ITA): AntiSoulmate!AU19 (ITA): 14/02/202120 (ITA): Nonne alla riscossa per sfamare Niccolò!
Relationships: Giovanni Garau & Martino Rametta, Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta
Comments: 46
Kudos: 18





	1. With or without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of the same universe of these ones:
> 
> Part 1 <https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482346/chapters/54339295>  
> PART 2 <https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482346/chapters/54408004#workskin>  
> PART 3 <https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482346/chapters/56127178>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: The truth is being with you scares me. But being without you... _terrifies_ me.**

Nico could tell that Marti was different from anybody he had ever met before, and not just due to his awful tattoos. They were, indeed, an insult to his noble profession but… It was more than that. More than Martino being one of his hottest customers.

From the moment Agnes had caught him staring, intrigued by her shapeshifting abilities, Martino had never ceased to impress Niccolò.  
With his sharp tongue, his refreshingly blunt attitude and his fascination with all that others would deem as ‘weird’ or 'scary’. Maybe that was the reason why he kept coming back, wondering what other secrets Nico could hide. Perhaps he had a well hidden third mutant arm, or something?

It had all started with a silly gift, to thank both for not being too hard on Agnes and her lack of boundaries. For actually indulging her, rather than putting her back in her place. Not even Azadeh and Astor got used to her liveliness so quickly, and it had been weeks - if not months - before she could approach them without scaring them off. That was the norm between dæmons, after all, wasn’t it?  
It had simply been a chai latte, on the house, decorated in the shape of a red panda - _‘You should be one of those, Delia! You can be more than an ermine or a snake. You can be anything you want.’ ‘If you say so…’_ \- and then Martino had shown up with a handmade bookmark.

Nico made a mixtape, and Marti brought someone. A pink haired man, who told Niccolò all about his home for kids who didn’t fit the norm. People who were born with dæmons of the same gender, mainly, or got stuck on animals for which they were ridiculed.

“Life is too short to give a fuck about those who want to change us, who can’t love us for what we are.” Filippo had told him, right before he left. “And you two are both magnificent, by the way. I can see why Rose can’t stop talking about you…”

Nico had introduced him to his friends. Surprisingly, it had been nice to see they were all a bit wary at first - including Luai and Maddalena, who didn’t seem to resent Nico at all? - until they were inevitably charmed by his gentle nature and heartwarming laugh.

He got to meet Marti’s: Gio and his lioness, Luchino and the parakeet, Elia and the pangolin.

“Next week, I’ll bring the girls.”

“And then what, the parents?”

It was getting too serious. Too fast.  
So he pulled the plug, before he could get seriously hurt. Being without Martino, however, proved to be harder than he thought. And the only one who understood his decision, of course, was Agnes.

_‘You shouldn’t let the fear win, though, Nico. It might end in tears, but what about the happy memories we’ll get to make? We made loads, already, and we aren’t even dating them yet.’_

_‘What should I do, then?’_

_‘Maybe start by being honest? Write to Marti, and tell him how you feel.’_

He doesn’t answer. Of course. Why should he?  
Niccolò sure isn’t worth waiting for, and it would be better for everyone if he could forget about Martino and disappear from his life forever. Right.

What now?  
He should go for a run, and stop dwelling on what he can’t change.

Well, that’s even the point of answering? Unless he doesn’t really mean it?  
There’s only a way to find out.


	2. Tell me what you see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: “It doesn’t matter how many universes there are. There will always be a version of me standing by your side.”**

_“It doesn’t matter how many universes there are. There will always be a version of me standing by your side.”_

Nico had never even dared to think he'd say such a thing, one day. And that it would be met with a blush, a playful shove and a smile.

"So you're basically telling us we're stuck with you two in every universe out there? Lucky us..." Even Delia can't really hide her astonishment at the news, and her words don't sound half as snarky as she wished they would. Especially not with her nudging Nico's hand with her head, so that he'd pet her.

Yet another thing that could only happen to them, huh? Having their dæmons looking for the touch of another human, despite the taboo on such an intimate gesture. It had happened for the first time on one of his worst days, when he couldn't even stand the sight of Agnes or Marti.

He reminded Nico of everything that he could wish for, but didn't deserve. She reminded him of the reason why, of how utterly broken he was. And then, Delia had come into the room and sat on his chest. In the shape of a red panda, his favourite. No matter how many times he'd moved her away, she'd stubbornly go back to be as close to him as she was able to.

"Nobody should be alone. Ever." She'd said, and then spent the night beside him. To think that he'd always believed Delia barely tolerated him...

"I still don't like it, when you make him cry..." She had told him, on their way to the kitchen the following morning. "But I know you're not hurting him on purpose, and that when it happens you hurt twice as much. Just like I do... And that's enough for me."

"Oh!" Martino had said, smiling, once he saw them sitting at the table. "Look who's up, Agnes..." She'd pretended to be too busy eating from his hand to notice. Nico was too amazed at seeing Marti and his dæmon interact, to be wounded by her ill disguised indifference. "Come on now, he's just waiting for you."

"I'm sorry." He'd whispered, when she flew to the other side of the room, instead of crashing into his arms.

"You'd better be."

And then, all had been forgiven. They had both filed away Agnes and Delia's behaviour as their little miracle, thinking it would never happen again. But it did. So often, actually, that it has become a common occurrence by now. It still thrills them both, to be able to do this. To be trusted so deeply, loved so dearly.

"Tell me what you see..." Martino says, lips on his naked shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie with the gentlest kiss.

"Well, who do you want me to start with? Lucas and Eliott, Matteo and David, Cristina and Joana or Robbe and Sander?"


	3. Sopravvissuti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: **160\. “First we survive this, then you can yell at me.”**

Non sa neanche come ci sono finiti, in questa cazzo di situazione. Forse c'ha a che fare con l'avere un ragazzo davvero troppo buono, uno che non sa dire di no. Nemmeno quando viene invitato a quella che potrebbe essere la sua ultima cena, visti i tremendi precedenti degli chef. Se non sarà la gricia di Luchì ad avvelenarli, ci penserà il tiramisù di Sil a dare loro il colpo di grazia. 

Ma non c'erano modi migliori, per festeggiare l'anniversario del loro primo bacio? 

“Pensiamo prima di tutto a sopravvivere a tutto questo. Poi potrai gridarmi contro, okay?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 167. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?!”**

Martino could not believe his eyes.  
The kitchen looked like a battlefield, but Nico didn't seem to mind. He was humming _Adeste Fideles_ , as he proceeded to carry Christmas cookies and a small panettone to the living room.

"Before you ask: yes, everything is edible. It's actually quite good, to be honest. And no, I wouldn't try to poison you the day before a lunch with both our families." Niccolò told him, sensing his understandable disbelief. He knew he was a pretty awful cook, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to improve for his boyfriend. Martino sure deserved all the nice treats the world could offer, didn't he?

Martino raised an eyebrow, but gave both the cookies and the panettone a try. They hardly could be worse than **_that_** carbonara, right?  
And then, they both left him speechless. As Nico's smile got bigger and bigger, he went for another slice. Another cookie. Soon enough, with the help of Niccolò himself, only crumbs were left on the plates.

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?!” He asked, showing his appreciation by straddling Niccolò and going for a long - breathtaking - kiss.

"The Internet? You wouldn't believe the things I've learnt lately..." Nico answered, chuckling. 

"Oh? You wouldn't mind showing me some, would you?" 

"Not at all. So... Where should we start?"


	5. Pessimo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 161. “Well how was I supposed to know not to open the box?!”**

Proprio non ce la fa, a dirlo ad alta voce.  
Nemmeno pensa ce ne sia il bisogno. Lui è sempre stato un libro aperto, per Niccolò.  
E poi, se non avesse voluto che la trovasse e la aprisse poteva anche nasconderla meglio, no?  
Invece l'aveva lasciata lì, in bella vista, nel primo cassetto del loro armadio.

“Beh, ma come facevo a sapere che non avrei dovuto aprire la scatola?” Aveva cercato di giustificarsi, non appena era stato beccato con le mani nel sacco. O meglio, nella scatola. Dove aveva trovato due biglietti per un concerto di Apparat. Non a Roma, ovviamente, non sarebbe stato da Niccolò. No, erano per la data di Oslo.

“Certo che non ti si può proprio fare una sorpresa, eh?” Gli aveva detto, con l'ombra di un sorriso sulle labbra che mal celava la sua delusione.

“No, non si può. Ma apprezzo veramente che ancora tu ci provi.” Lo aveva preso subito per un polso, prima che potesse allontanarsi, ed aveva cercato di farsi perdonare con un bacio. Due. Dieci. E pian piano Nico s'era sciolto, ed era scoppiato in una risata sincera.

“Sei davvero pessimo, però. Ammettilo.” S'era scostato quanto bastava per guararlo dritto negli occhi.

“Può darsi, però è proprio per quello che mi ami, no?”

“Può darsi.”


	6. Sometimes I wish I'd never met you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 154. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met you."**

He doesn't even try to stop you from leaving. Why would he? Nico is probably grateful that he didn't have to be the one breaking things off... He's never been good at that, as proven by his multiple _attempts_ at leaving Maddalena.

Still, you thought he believed that what you two **_had_** was worth fighting for. Well, you were wrong. Obviously, Luai means much more to Niccolò than you could even dream to. Losing you is a price he's willing to pay, and it shouldn't. It fucking shouldn't. 

"Sometimes I wish I'd never met you." You tell him, in a last - desperate - attempt to coax a reaction out of him. Nico keeps staring at the pieces of his broken phone, scattered on the floor, instead.

It's useless. You walk out.


	7. Sometimes I wish I’d never met you (A Different Take)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 154. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met you.”**

"Sometimes I wish I'd never met you."

Martino has learnt to read between the lines, through the years, but that doesn't meant it has become any easier to hear Nico say such things. 

How can he believe Marti's life would have been better without him? That's so stupid. But hey, Marti has had his fair share of idiotic thoughts running thorough his head so it's not like he can't see where all this negativity is coming from. He can't blame Nico for not filing it away as bullshit immediately, either. 

What he **can** do, to help Niccolò, is refusing to let _it_ haveany power over him. 

"Understandable." He jokes, sitting down at the table and raising his boyfriend's chin when he refuses to look Marti in the eyes. He doesn't try to fight it. He doesn't stand up, claiming he's got something to do elsewhere. He stays. That's a good sign, and Martino is so relieved he could cry. He hasn't got time for tears at the moment, though. Maybe later. 

"I mean," he continues, instead, taking Nico's hand and dragging him to the couch. "I did make you discover so many good series that you can hardly stay off Netflix, I'm afraid. And I plead guilty about those few kilos you gained because I'm just too good as a chef. I also suppose that me being so great in bed makes it nearly impossible for you to choose studying or going to the gym over a working out session in the sack..." Nico is shaking his head in disbelief, but Martino can **_feel_** the weight on his heart is a bit lighter now. Finally. "So yeah, I can't hold it against you if you really wished you'd never met me."

"Shut up and turn the TV on." Nico answers, trying to sound grumpy and closed off but failing miserably when Marti smiles at him. Damn. He **_has_** to smile back, he just can't fight it.

"Alright, alright. Bossy, aren't we? And what should we watch? Got any requests, Mr Fares?" 

"I feel like it's a Grand Budapest Hotel night, don't you?"

"I suppose." They've already watched it so many times that they both know that movie by heart, but who cares? He'd have gladly watched the whole Twilight Saga, if that's what Niccolò had asked. Thankfully, he didn't. Small mercies, right? "Under the same blanket, with a cup of hot chocolate and whipped cream?" 

"Yes, that's right." Niccolò nods eagerly, setting up the DVD and then rushing to the bedroom to get their favourite blanket while Martino makes their drinks. 

The night is still young, but the worst is over. For now.


	8. Don't walk away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 194. “I wasn’t the one who walked away from us. You were.”**

He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have taken a lot more pills than he had been prescribed, and numbed his brain so that it wouldn't have been able to come up with such crap.

The stress of the upcoming winter term is wearing them both down, but that's not an excuse for what he has just said.

“I wasn’t the one who walked away from us. You were. Twice. I wouldn't blame you if it happens again, and this time you stay gone."

Such fears weren't supposed to be shared in a spiteful tone, when Martino was simply trying to reassure him that he wasn't going anywhere.

"I did tell you that I'd make you suffer, and you'd end up hating me, didn't I?" He carries on, bringing his knees to his chest and trying to make himself as small as possible. How wonderful it would be, if the world around him ceased to exist, now that he can't see it.

"And remember what I told you?" Martino doesn't force him to move, he simply puts a reassuring hand on top of his and squeezes.

"That you didn't know shit... and that hasn't changed one bit. Haven't you seen, by now, that we always find our way back to each other? You're stuck with me, Mr."

He does have a point. No matter what happens, there's nothing that can keep them apart for long.

Nothing and no one.

Ever.


	9. Got no shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: #57 (Maritombola) Use the quote: “I, myself, am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.” (Augusten Burroughs)"**

What. The. Fuck.  
Abort mission. Drop the phone on sofa, face down, and maybe everything will go back to normal. The direct messages and the follow back from _ **'gotnoshame'**_ will be gone, when he picks it up again. What a fitting username, by the way, with all those shirtless pictures in his gallery and the Instagram stories from the gym.

Damn. He was never supposed to get into this so deep.  
Marti had followed that account to have something actually interesting to look at on his feed, instead of Margot the cat or Luchino's culinary adventures.  
Unexpectedly, however, the guy wasn't just hot. He could draw, he was a decent singer - though his music tastes were questionable... Cremonini's _'Buon Viaggio',_ really? - and often shared interesting insights on a lot of different topics. Literature, movies and TV shows, politics. Current events all around the world, sensitive issues such as LGBT rights and mental health. Helpful advice on how to take care of yourself when your brain wasn't cooperating, but also some tips for the people around you.  
Words that made Martino try harder to be there for his mum, even though he still struggled.

Little by little, he had become a comforting presence in Marti's life. One he couldn't do without. Which was stupid, since he didn't know a single thing about him apart from the fact that he was hot, sharp witted and kind hearted. He found himself wishing he knew a lot more about the person behind _'gotnoshame'._   
After a whole day of reading through the comments and exploring the profiles of people who had tagged him, all he had managed to get were a name and a location.   
Nico, from Rome.  
  
Sweet and cheeful Nico, who seemed to be quite a tormented soul behind those megawatts smiles.   
If the last quote he had shared was anything to go by, of course.  
  
 ** _"I, myself, am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.” (Augusten Burroughs)_  
**  
It didn't feel right to _'hear'_ him talk about himself in such a derogatory manner, so he sent him a direct message.  
What was he thinking?  
  
" _Oi! The video of you playing the piano that you posted earlier really made my day, so please refrain from being so negative about yourself_."  
  
" _Yessir. Glad I could be of service. Anything else_?" He had answered, in a matter of a few minutes.   
  
" _Actually, I promise I'll try to be more positive on one condition_."  
  
 _"Let's hear it."  
  
"You actually using Instagram, my dear 'mr220501'. I mean, how can anyone have just a couple of photos of themselves when they look so fine?"_  
  
Shit. Marti hadn't noticed a new follower on his poor excuse for an Instagram profile. He wouldn't even have one, if it hadn't been for his friends' well-intentioned pestering.   
  
When finally dares to look at the screen again, the messages are still there and the _'????' 'Did I scare you off?' 'I didn't mean to, I'm sorry.'_ that have been added afterwards make him feel a bit guilty about taking so long to answer.

_"Well, by not being raging narcissist, I guess?"_ He regrets it as soon as he sends it. He's trying to say that he'd feel like a self-centered asshole if he filled his own profile with selfies, not that Nico is to blame for doing that.   
He quickly types that out, before he can be misunderstood. _"Not that you're one. Anyway, you got yourself a deal: more selfies from me, less negativity from you. I'm Martino, by the way."_

" _Niccolò, but you can call me Nico ;) ... you can come by and hear me play live, if you'd like, once we get to know each other better_." He's a bit surprised at how fast things are moving between them, but he can't say that he minds too much.

" _Do you flirt so shamelessly with all your followers?_ "  
  
" _Only with my cutest one ;)”  
_  
He scoffes at the phone, feeling his cheeks getting all red and hot.  
So much for not taking this too seriously. He could really fall for this guy. He probably already has.  
Fuck.


	10. You're worth it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 159. “Of course you’re worth it.”**

He should have never listened to Gio. He shouldn’t have agreed to this meeting, tonight.

He’d walked away for a good reason, so that Niccolò could start over and have a shot at a normal life... And it hasn’t been easy, with all the nagging from their friends and their families. With Nico trying to understand what he had done wrong to lose his best friend along with his fiancé.

All his work seemed to have been paying off, with Niccolò moving in with Malik and find a new job as Mr. Incanti personal trainer.

Rumor had it that went he back to Maddalena, which wasn’t ideal but Martino couldn’t really comment on that. Perhaps it was his first step toward healing, and then he’d move on to someone who could really _get_ him.

“Nah, she has been hired by Incanti’s younger brother - Edoardo - as part of his team to get to the bottom of what has happened to his fiancé, who has disappeared right after a party in Fiumicino. The same you went to, by the way.”

He had been working undercover with them, trying to understand why most of the guests had cut ties with the life they had before. Why they were booking tanning sessions and had an appointment with the hairdresser so often- or buying massive quantities of foundation and hair dye, like Martino. Why they were all such loyals customers of Covitti’s gourmet restaurant. 

No, no, no.

Niccolò wasn’t supposed to get involved in this mess.

“I know what you are, Marti, and I don’t care. We can still be together.” He leaned in for a kiss, but Martino couldn’t risk it. Malik had been pretty clear about the fact that sharing _any_ bodily fluid carried the virus. 

“No, we can’t. You might not care, but I do. I won’t turn you into _this._..” And as romantic as Ned and Chuck relationship had seemed on _Pushing Daises_ , he was pretty sure neither of them could be around the other and keep their hands to themselves. One day, they’d slip up and... “I’m not worth it.”

“Of course you’re worth it. I want to be with you, whatever it takes.” He said, grabbing his hand and scratching his arm with Marti’s nails. “We're better than the old 'until death do us part', aren't we? Now kill me, please, or I'll do it myself. ”

Fuck.


	11. Wrong Universe

A couple of years ago, Martino would have called this a perfect universe.  
A world where his mom was fine, and his parents were still together. Where they both wanted him to date someone who could make him happy, and it didn’t matter that their name was Giovanni Garau and not Elisa Passarelli.

Now, it was just nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He had been avoiding Gio ever since he got here, and found his friend staring lovingly at him while he was sleeping. He had leaned in, and laughed when Martino fallen off the bed in a desperate attempt to avoid his lips.

 _“What’s crawled up your butt, uh? Come here and let me give you a kiss.”_ His mirth had been short lived, once he’d realised that Martino wasn’t joking. He could sense that something was deeply wrong, but he knew better than to press for an explanation that Marti wasn’t ready to give. _**That**_ hadn’t changed, thankfully.

Everyone else, though, wasn’t on the same page and wouldn’t stop trying to understand why Martino had broken up with him out of the blue. How to get the golden duo back together, as it was meant to be.  
Except it wasn’t. He couldn’t find Niccolò anywhere, it was as if he had never even existed... and it wasn’t like his obsession for the man had gone unnoticed.  
The stress of studying Medicine had got to his head, so much that he was making up an imaginary boyfriend instead of building a life with the one that he had already by his side.

Martino needed help, so they persuaded him to go and see Spera. He was the best therapist in Rome, according to the glowing reviews on _‘ **Dottori.it** ’._  
Well, if seeing him would get them all off his back... He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to play along, while he kept looking for Nico.

“Oh, damn.” The man had said, as he walked into his studio. “You don’t belong here, kid. Let me refer you to Valtersen and Næsheim, I’m sure they will be able to get you back home.”  


"So, no matter in which universe we are some things never change, huh? Like you keeping everything inside until it blows up in your face.. not getting into that thick skull of yours that you can tell me everything, man..." His voice broke, as he slapped Martino's nape in retaliation. His hand lingered there a bit longer than Martino would have liked, but then he moved it away as soon as he had sensed his discomfort. Good old Gio. He was trying his best. It couldn't be easy to be around someone that looked like his boyfriend but wasn't.

"You believe me?"

"Well, it's either that or thinking that the last night we spent together triggered something so awful in you that you can't be with me anymore... As unpleasant as it is to think that my Marti is now in a universe where he's dating someone else and I'm still with Eva, it's still better than the alternative, isn't it?"

It is.


	12. In ogni universo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: "It doesn't matter how many universes there are. There will always be a version of me standing by your side"**

"Ma in quale universo quello sarebbe un procione, scusa?" Sbuffa. Perché non si può perdere così pure a Pictionary, gioco in cui - in teoria -avrebbero dovuto sbaragliare la concorrenza senza alcun problema grazie alle capacità artistiche di Niccolò.

Che Martino sia a malapena in grado di tenere in mano una matita, e buttar giù due omini stilizzati, si sapeva. Né i suoi orrori né quelli di Giovanni hanno destato scalpore. Quelli di Nico, invece... Cioè, non è che siano disegni brutti. Hanno un loro fascino naïf, per carità.  
Solo che sono impossibili da decifrare in un minuto.

"Nello stesso in cui possiamo accettare 'inculato' e 'inculatissimo' a Scarabeo, nonché 'cazzo' per 'cose che si trovano in bagno' a Saltinmente?" Interviene Luca, sempre pronto a prendere le parti del suo più grande amico. "Tutte parole geniali, Nico, se mi permetti."

"Permetto, accetto e ringrazio. Tu sì che non mi deludi mai, Luchì." Battono il cinque, poi lo fanno con due mani, si scambiano una spallata prima da una parte e poi dall'altra. Il rituale più ridicolo - e adorabile, non che lui ammetterebbe mai di trovarlo tale - che Martino abbia mai visto. 

"Insisto nel dire che qui qualcuno c'ha bisogno de scopa', comunque, eh..." Rimarca Elia, ridendosela sotto i baffi. Quelli che gli piacerebbe avere, almeno, visto che giusto due peletti sminchi gli crescono sopra al labbro a quello.

"Be', allora sai che ti dico? Cambio universo." Borbotta Martino, alzandosi. Glielo dicono sempre che è peggio di un bambino, quando si stufa perché sa di non aver possibilità di vittoria. Ma non importa, non quando a Niccolò piace anche così.

"E mi lasceresti qui? Tutto solo soletto?" Lo segue immediatamente Nico, cingendogli i fianchi con le braccia e poggiandogli il mento sulla spalla. "Guarda che t'avverto: non importa quanti universi ci siano, troverai sempre me al tuo fianco."

"Cioè, mi perseguiti ovunque?" Cerca di spostarsi verso il frigo senza togliersi l'altro di dosso con un movimento laterale, a mo' di granchio, suscitando l'ilarità generale.

"Già." Sussurra, stringendo un po' più forte. "Questa potrebbe essere la mia versione migliore, Marti. Vuoi davvero rischiare?" 

"No, ma ti pare. Pensa se me capita uno fissatissimo con... chessò... David Bowie. O coi film de' vampiri. O che parla francese..." Risponde, voltandosi quanto basta per ribadire il concetto con un bacio.

"Polipetti pomicioni? Vi ricordate di avere un pubblico, vero?" Forse. O forse no, visto che continuano imperterriti. "No, per favore! Certe cose non voglio vedere. Togli quelle tue manacce di lì, Marti, o vengo lì e te taglio." 

"Okay, okay. Non diamo spettacolo, Martì. Nemmeno c'hanno pagato." Niccolò è il primo a staccarsi, portandosi dietro il suo ragazzo. Pictionary è stato abbandonato, Risiko è stato bandito dalle ragazze... ma ci sarebbe ancora Taboo?

"Ah, perché ci vorresti lucrare sopra?" Gli chiede, mentre si siedono nuovamente l'uno accanto all'altro sul divano. "Be', se si parla di cifre importanti, perché no?"


	13. Once upon a december

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 170. "It will make you forget me. When you wake, it’ll be like I never existed."**

“ _Drink up, Marti. It will make you forget me. When you wake, it’ll be like I never existed_.”

It's tempting. He'll get to erase all the embarrassing attempts at going down the slopes, the comments about looking like Bambi on ice. Everything that followed the most idiotic fall of his life, when he stumbled on his feet at the loading area of the chairlift.

The hot skier helping him up, after laughing at his misery. Getting stuck, together, for ages on their way to the top. Being mesmerized by his full lips, and then blinded by his stupid smile. By those wrinkles around his green eyes - or were they brown? golden? how come it was so hard to tell? - and his sharp cheekbones. 

Telling the hot skier that he was slightly bothered by heights, because he needed to get his mind off every awful scenario that his mind was conjuring and it wasn't like he'd ever see that guy again.

_"Man, I really can't stand heights. I wonder what's taking them so long..."_ It had been such a bad idea to try and look what was happening behind them, making the chair waver way too much for Marti's liking.

_"But you're skiing at 2000 meters?"_ Duh. Hot but dumb? Martino sure wouldn't be sad to see him go.

_"You don't usually end up stuck on the chairlift."_ He'd answered, patiently.

_"I see. Though, if you think about it, there's probably a higher chance of us freezing here than falling...?"_ Hot skier had helpfully pointed out, because there couldn't be a better time to talk about catastrophic epilogues to their current predicament.

_"Wow, thank you. I feel so much better now."_

" _We could cuddle for warmth or something, if you'd like."_

_"Thanks but no, thanks. I don't even know your name."_

" _Niccolò, and you are?"_

_"Martino."_

Of course, once they had started talking and got to know each other better through playful teasing, the lift came back to life and their trip together was over far too soon.

Drink up, Marti, and you won't be able to remember a single thing about him. Who asked you if you'd mind racing him to the nearest bar for a coffee? And then again, to the bottom of a blue square slope? No one.

Martino still failed to get to the end of a green circle without falling a dozen times, but he couldn't care less back then. Give up looking at look those hips swing so nicely? Nah, his dignity was a price he was more than willing to pay for such a nice view. 

Should he really get smashed, and obliterate all memories of his best winter holiday? 

Niccolò and his _'wishing for something else between your legs, huh?'_ while they were side by side on a ski-lift, followed by a pole fight. Snatching one from Nico's wrist without losing his balance wasn't easy, but it was so worth it.

Should he forget about his beginners class, full of little shits who kept complaining about the clumsiness of their unexpected guest? 

_'_ ' _Teacher Nico! Martino is all tense and stiffy again!! He goes toooooo slooooooow.'_

_'Be kind! He's old and he's trying!!!'_

Why would he throw that away? Because Niccolò had made it clear that he was interested, but wanted to start casual since he had just gotten out of a relationship that had lasted three years? 

What was wrong with him? 

A lot, apparently.

"No, I don't want to forget about you. I want to try and make this work, okay?" His hands reached up to gently cradle his face, and then he leaned in to kiss Nico's tears away. 

"Okay."


	14. Incontri Inaspettati

Martino non ha appena visto un tizio con una molletta sul naso bere da una provetta di sangue, con un’aria piuttosto schifata. No. Martino sta sognando, è evidente.

Oppure l'hanno drogato con dell'aconito. Lo sanno tutti che i vampiri sono brutti come la fame e puzzano di carogna in putrefazione... Come quelli del clan di Piazza Giuochi.

Quando riaprirà quella porta, si sveglierà in camera sua. 

"Ah, sei ancora qui? Scusa, non volevo fare irruzione nel tuo laboratorio ma stavo morendo di fame." Mormora lo sconosciuto, accennando un sorriso. "Cioè, morto già lo sono ma c'avevo lo stomaco che brontolava peggio de' mi' madre quando tornavo tardi a casa. Perché le provette, ti starai chiedendo..." No, veramente no. Però non riesce a smettere di ascoltarlo. Ha una splendida voce. Profonda. Ammaliante.

"Sai com'è, no? Si cerca di mantenere un'alimentazione responsabile e sostenibile, evitando sprechi inutili di sangue che potrebbe servire a salvare qualcuno più vivo di me. Delle sacche non posso fare a meno, ovviamente, ma posso cercare di limitarne la quantità."

Ammirevole. Però ancora non gli è ben chiaro cosa gliene dovrebbe fregare a lui, dei suoi scrupoli. O perché dia per scontato che gli crederà.

"Ti presenti sempre così, quando ti beccano?" Lo interroga, invece, con una punta di curiosità.

"Ehi! Non è che succeda così di frequente... E forse sono stato io, a volermi far beccare, non credi?" Suggerisce l'altro, fingendosi sdegnato da tali ignobili illazioni. 

"Seh, come no." Più rimane, più è probabile che diventerà la sua cena. Eppure proprio non gli va, di andarsene. Sarà per via dei suoi strani poteri? Qualcosa che sui libri viene definito 'ascendente', o roba del genere? No, non gli sembra di essere intontito. La sensazione che prova, piuttosto, è simile al giocare con il fuoco. Non tanto per il timore di scottarsi, quanto per il calore che sente nel vederlo così a suo agio. 

"Che uomo di poca fede... Comunque sì: perché mentire? Potresti anche chiamare la sicurezza, e raccontare ciò che ti ho appena detto ma chi ti darebbe ascolto? " In effetti, non ha tutti i torti. Anzi. "Inoltre ho imparato, nel corso degli anni, che spesso chi non mi prende per matto quando gli faccio delle piazzate del genere non è del tutto umano."

Non gli piace la piega che sta prendendo la conversazione. Non finisce mai bene, quando viene fuori la verità sulla sua natura. Gli è stato insegnato a essere guardingo al riguardo, tanto dai suoi genitori quanto dai suoi amici. Eva, probabilmente, lo sbranerebbe se sapesse che se ne sta qui a chiacchierare con uno che un'intuizione ce l'ha avuta.

Non ne ha vergogna - quella l'ha riservata, per anni, a un altro _dettaglio_ che lo contraddistingue _,_ uno che l'ha portato ad allontanare tutti... per poi scoprire che loro non ci davano alcun peso! - però non ne discute volentieri con gente che non conosce. Se si spargesse la voce pretenderebbero la costante presenza di un supervisore, mentre lavora. Esigerebbero che Spera gli faccia da garante, e qualsiasi suo passo falso - non che conti di farne, per carità - ricadrebbe sugli altri. È la prassi, niente di personale… ma sarebbe una vera seccatura. Tutto qui.

"Potrei essere semplicemente uno che ne ha viste così tante da non farsi più stupire da nulla. O un appassionato di quelli come te." Gli fa subito notare, mantenendo la calma.

"Quest'ultima opzione la escluderei, non mi pari proprio il tipo." Commenta, squadrandolo da capo a piedi. "Però sulla prima non posso discutere, hai ragione. Ti porgo le mie più sentite scuse." Sentitissime, con quella faccia da schiaffi. Come no. “Altre domande? Perché se no, ne avrei una io.”

“In effetti…” Vorrebbe sapere il perché della molletta, la ragione di quell’espressione nauseata mentre beveva. Finora è sempre stato convinto che andassero pazzi per il sangue, senza eccezioni. Magari, però, nemmeno in casi come questi si possono fare generalizzazioni. Che ne abbia bisogno per sopravvivere non significa che per forza gli piaccia, no? 

_‘Tipo me con qualsiasi bevanda analcolica, tesoro.’_

Gli direbbe Filo, se fosse qui.

Porta la mano al naso, senza nemmeno accorgersene, facendo intuire cosa stesse per chiedergli. 

“Ah, questa? Sembrerà assurdo, lo so… Sono andato in cura per questo mio disturbo, che si è andato a sommare agli altri già non indifferenti che avevo…” Lo anticipa, infatti, con un tono allegro che stride con quanto gli sta confessando. Ormai ci avrà fatto l'abitudine, suppone. Fingere di non dar peso a ciò che si dice è un’ottima strategia per risparmiarsi la pietà altrui; Martino ne sa qualcosa. “A farla breve: detesto il sangue. Mi disgusta oltre ogni limite: non riesco a sopportarne la sensazione, l’odore, la sensazione tattile, nemmeno la vista. Quando però stai con una persona che pensa di sapere cosa sia meglio per te, non ti è concesso di andartene in pace, ed eccomi qui. Sarà anche che, da medico, non poteva arrendersi all'idea di perdermi lasciando qualcosa di intentato… Almeno, però, si occupava della cucina e di rendermi le cose più facili. Non sai che manicaretti, che mi preparava.”

“Oi, non guardare me! Non ho nessuna intenzione di diventare il tuo nuovo chef!” Esclama, alquanto imbarazzato. Perché, ad essere onesti, già s’immagina a casa di ‘sto qui con solo un grembiule addosso e lui pronto sulla tavola. Fantasia anche realizzabile, volendo - non è mai stato insicuro, sotto quell’aspetto: non c’è nessuno che non sia alla sua portata, piuttosto il contrario - ma ben poco igienica. E pure alquanto prematura visto che questo ancora parla dell’ex con tanta nostalgia. Chissà com’è finita, tra loro. Non può certo indagare al riguardo, nel caso ci fossero di mezzo battute di caccia e palettate nel cuore… Può darsi che l’allontanamento sia stato volontario e pacifico, naturalmente. Meglio non rischiare, però. 

“Allora, quale sarebbe la tua domanda?”

“Com’è che ti chiami?” Ah già, non si sono ancora nemmeno presentati.

“Martino, e tu saresti?”

“Nico. Niccolò, in realtà, ma quasi nessuno mi chiama così. Be’, s’è fatta ‘na certa. Avrai da fare, e non voglio trattenerti oltre.” Ma come, è già venuta l’ora di salutarsi? 

“In realtà no.” Ammette, tranquillamente. “Il mio turno è appena finito, quindi stavo per tornare a casa e andare a dormire. Ora però dovrò inventarmi qualcosa per giustificare la sparizione delle provette…” Le infrange tutte al suolo, con grande sorpresa di Niccolò. Gli si illuminano gli occhi, come se dopo tanto tempo avesse finalmente incontrato qualcuno sulla sua stessa lunghezza d’onda. Un’anima affine. “Puoi farmi compagnia ancora per un po’, se ti va, mentre pulisco… A meno che tu non voglia trovare qualcun altro a cui raccontare vita, morte e miracoli?”

“Nah, mi accontenterò di te… Marti.” Annuncia Nico, dopo averci pensato un po’ su.

“Quale onore. Non t’aspettare che io dopo t’inviti a casa mia per sdebitarmi, però. Non son mica nato ieri.” Lo provoca, recuperando scopa e paletta dal ripostiglio più vicino.

“Ma no, figurati. Ti pare che io ti prenda per un tale sprovveduto?” Assolutamente sì, ma gli farà rimangiare certe insinuazioni. Ci può contare!

Ancora non sa bene che piega prenderà questa serata, non ha nemmeno ben chiaro che piega vorrebbe che prendesse. Niccolò lo intriga. Lo confonde. 

Ma per la prima volta, dopo tanto tempo, non vede l’ora di scoprirlo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt #79 - Maritombola: 79. A detesta il sangue. Ne è disgustato/a oltre ogni limite, non riesce a sopportarne l’odore, la sensazione tattile, nemmeno la vista. Sfortunatamente, diventa un vampiro.**


	15. Sweet dreams are made of this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: #31 Maritombola: Use this image as the main ispiration for your fic:[Norwegian Panorama](https://pixabay.com/it/photos/acqua-norvegia-panorama-natura-4013446/)**
> 
> **Major credits to Silver_Etoile for the setting of the story:<https://azozzoni.tumblr.com/post/638855000274206720/marti-falling-for-the-mark-nico-figuring-out-its>**

In spite of everything, Giovanni was quite proud of his team.  
Of Filippo, for creating such a beautiful replica of the Norwegian wilderness. Who cared about him asking for more late-night planning sessions than usual, so that he could have more chances to flirt with their new point man - a reckless hothead, who was great at watching their backs, but still needed to work on his 'shoot first, ask questions later' attitude - when it didn't affect the quality of his work in the slightest. When it certainly wasn't his fault that they got caught.  
Or Luca's. He did great too, in the shape of their mark's dear friend Luai, to lead Niccolò right where they needed him to be. 

"We couldn't have gotten that far in our mission if it hadn't been for you, you know that right?" He told his forger, before he dropped him at Silvia's. There was no reason for Luchino to beat himself up, for thinking he had let his team down. For all they teased him about his supposed lack of professionalism, for focusing more on delicious food and beautiful women than on keeping his act up so that he could flawlessly fool their target, they knew he took pride in doing his job well... and wouldn't sleep at night if he believed it had been him, who had compromised the Fares operation.

The blame fell entirely on his right-hand man, Martino.  
The same guy who had been there for Gio every step of the way ever since they started working in this field. Who had never failed him before.  
He had to go and fall for the mark, refusing to carry out the inception job they had been commissioned by his parents.   
And that's okay. Gio should have turned their offer down, no matter the enormous amount of money they had been promised. Enough to stop working for the rest of their lives, and all they had to do was to implant into Nico's brain the idea that Maddalena was the love of his life.  
Can he blame Marti for blowing their cover, and turning a high stake mission into a romantic getaway on the fjords?  
Absolutely not. He's proud of him too. 

And it is definitely going to be a pain to find someone willing to hire his team, after fucking up so bad, but he can't bring himself to really care about it.  
Marti is happy and that's all that matters, isn't it? Sweet dreams are made of this, who is Gio to disagree?


	16. Niente è reale, se tu non ci sei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: 67. “Il mio numero di camera è 404, mi trovi lì. Non dirlo a nessuno” della Maritombola**

Sa che non è davvero lui. Lo saprebbe perfino se fosse una copia perfetta di Niccolò, cosa che comunque non è. Mai.  
Ogni volta c'è qualcosa che stona: un indumento che non è proprio il suo genere, una piega strana delle labbra, il suono stridulo della sua risata. La voce non abbastanza profonda, talvolta. O poco nasale.  
Inoltre, non è proprio in grado replicare il calore dei suoi abbracci. Quel misto di incredulità, tenerezza e desiderio nel suo sguardo. Ma neanche lontanamente.

Eppure, ogni volta, Martino si lascia ingannare.  
Segue quell'ombra, dimenticandosi della missione che dovrebbe portare a termine. 

"Il mio numero di camera è 404, mi trovi lì. Non dirlo a nessuno.” Gli ha sussurrato, poco fa, nell'orecchio.

Dovrebbe ignorarlo e scavare più a fondo nella psiche di Andrea Incanti - un luogo tremendo, da cui non vede l'ora di andarsene - per carpire quanto richiesto alla sua squadra dal fratello Edoardo... ma non lo farà.  


Come sempre, da quando Niccolò è... Scomparso. O potrebbe anche dire 'non è più tra noi' o 'se n'è andato'': sono altri eufemismi che gli piace usare, perché implicano che un giorno potrebbe tornare. Come se non l'avesse visto buttarsi da quella finestra con i suoi stessi occhi.  
No, questa volta andrà nella stanza 404 e si getterà anche lui nel vuoto. Non lo deluderà ancora.  
Vaffanculo a tutto il resto.


	17. I know I messed up (but there's no use in crying)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CONTENT WARNING: VAGUE MENTIONS TO HOMOPHOBIC VIOLENCE**
> 
> **Prompt #62 (Maritombola): “Non pensavo avessi sentito.” / “Ho sentito abbastanza.” ("I didn't think you'd heard." / "I heard enough." )**

No. No. No. This is all wrong.  
Rewind. Reshoot. As a matter of fact, let's rewrite their whole history from the moment Nico killed his mother. Accidentally, of course, but it doesn't change the fact that she died because of him. His parents had tried to persuade him that it must have been a coincidence, that it had nothing to do with his 'condition', but it did happen on the same day he revived his cat so... He had been been glad they moved away a week later, even though he'd never been able to forget Martino's teary face - not that he was faring much better - and bone crushing hug when they parted ways.

"We'll see each other again, right? This is not a goodbye." He had asked, sniffling and trying as hard as he could to put on a brave face for Nico's sake. Marti knew he didn't like to see him sad, and shared the sentiment.  
"Nope, it's not. It will never be, as long we keep these on." He had said, as he took two bracelets he had made out of the strongest red thread he could find, and placed one around his best friend's wrist. Waiting until Martino had done the same, before he'd walked back to his parents and left Rome for more than a decade.

He was supposed to walk into this new bakery that had just opened, asking for recommendation on which pie he should choose. Nico would recognise him straight away. Probably Marti would too, but neither of them was going to mention it... Silently challenging the other, to see who would break first. Martino would be the first customer to actually go for his experiment of the week, instead of being persuaded by Maddi that mango and passion fruit would be a much better choice. Or strawberry. Raspberry. Apricot. Apple, if he's an old fashioned soul. Anything other than whatever Niccolò was suggesting, really.

She wouldn't get to mumble _"I'll never understand why you'd want customers to think you can't cook..."_ , with Marti. He'd take a bite, pretend to like it and hoping that the taste would improve as he went on. Niccolò would be take pity on him, then, and offer his long-lost friend a refund or a free slice from you each pie in the shop. So that Martino would already know what's his favourite, next time.

They were supposed to take that chance to reconnect, and Nico would have found out if his childhood crush had always been one-sided or not.  
Their reunion shouldn't have happened in a morgue, while Niccolò was working on a case with Luai. Who was now a homicide detective, specialised in hate crimes. He was pretty sure that his victim had been killed by homophobes, but with no witnesses he had hoped that Nico could get help him get something from the guy himself.

 _"Well, thank you for everything. I know it must have unpleasant to dig up those memories. Now that I've got a lead, I promise I won't rest until they will all get to pay for what they've done to you..."_ Luai had said, solemnly. His usual prompt for Nico to step in, and send the dead back to their eternal sleep.

 _"Ni? Is that you? Guess our good luck charm did work out, after all."_ Marti smiled up at him, sitting up to show him the red thread he had tattooed on his ankle. _"I didn't feel right to wear it around my wrist, after watching Red Bracelets, you know... Plus, the yarn was breaking, so... Where's yours?"_

 _"Nico? I'm sorry this is **your** Martino, but..."_ Luai had insisted, growing frantic. It was understandable. Nico had been playing with fire, with his recklessness and his refusal to lay a finger on Marti. _"I can't, Lu. I am sorry. Please, forgive me. Both of you."_

Unexpectedly, they did.  
Luai came looking for him, that same evening, and told Niccolò that he couldn't resent him for what went down in that morgue. He was well aware of how much Martino meant to Nico, and it was to be expected that he'd rather ran away than lose him forever. Even if that meant putting his life at risk.  
Marti, back then, thought he was guilty of keeping only a piece of the red thread, in his wallet. Next to the condoms. Not exactly the most romantic place, was it?

Is Martino going be as understanding, now that he has found out he had been lied to for years?  
Ever since his mother had that stroke?  
It's hard to say.

"I didn't think you'd heard." He hadn't known Martino had been standing there, outside Luai's office, listening to this latter rant about Nico's need to come clean with the man he loved. He couldn't have him thinking that he had done something wrong, to justify his inability to touch him. 

"I heard enough." Enough for him to pretend he wasn't home, to turn down his calls. It had took being invited to the party of a mutual friend - Sana's - and locked into a room by their friends, to get a shot at asking for forgiveness. 

_"What exactly did you hear?"_ Nico writes on a page he's just tore out of a notebook, sure that all of those busybodies are out there eavesdropping on their conversation. 

_"That you killed my mother to save your cat, apparently... And then made someone pay with their life to bring **me** back. I was never in a witness protection program, was I? It was just a ruse to keep me out of sight until you guys had something else to pin on those fuckers who had killed me. Then you made sure nobody knew I was dead. Am I right?"_ Marti writes back, opting for crumple the sheet into a paper ball rather than opting for an airplane like Nico did. 

"Marti, I am so-" He pleads, on the verge of breaking down and cry.  
"Ni, please. Just tell me if I'm right." Martino sighs, sounding weary rather than mad.  
"You are."  
"Fuck."  
They stare at each other, unsure of what their next move should be.  
It's Martino who takes the matter into his own hands, this time, and sends a dozen texts to Nico's prehistoric phone.  


_I wish I could hate you, that I could tell you that I want you out of my life...  
and instead, despite of it all, I still can't see a future without you in it.  
I mean, I'm pretty sure you didn't know what would happen to my mom...  
and we can't even know for sure it's really connected to that, with all the living things that die everyday.  
I talked to Luai, and I agree with him when he says that your gift must be linked to the law of mutual exchange, or something like that.  
and well, I like to think that my mom's life was worth a bit more than your pet's. No offense.  
It still means that someone took my place, and I'll have to live with that... But if it were me, I would have done the same.  
I wouldn't have left you there, if I had the power to bring you back.  
  
_

"I don't even care that I'll never get to hold your hand without wearing gloves, or that we'll have to come up with creative ways to be together. And since none of this is going to make sense to ALL YOU PEOPLE STILL EAVESDROPPING, I want you to hear it, Ni. Never lie to me, never hide anything from me again... and I guess we're good." Marti whispers, placing the sheet of a paper in front of their lips and then leaning in to kiss him.

Wait... What?  
Is the universe on Nico's side, for once? Even though he doesn't deserve it at all?  
He laughs through the tears, hit by the irony of the situation. He sure isn't going to question it.  
Marti still wants to be with him, and nothing else matters.  
Nothing.  



	18. Fanculo le anime gemelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non essendo neppure io una grandissima fan delle soulmate!AU, ho sentito subito l'esigenza di scrivere qualcosina seguendo lo spunto di **Doblondoro**...

Ha sempre pensato di avere un animo romantico, lui.  
C'ha creduto veramente, che là fuori ci fosse una persona nata apposta per completarlo. Esattamente come era stato per i suoi genitori, e per i suoi nonni prima di loro.  
Ha atteso con ansia che gli apparisse sul polso qualcosa che l'avrebbe aiutato a riconoscere la sua anima gemella. Il suo colore preferito, la prima parola che gli avrebbe detto o anche solo il suo nome... ma non era uscito nulla.  
Né a diciott'anni. Né a diciannove. Neppure per i venti o i ventuno.  
Dicono che se non appare nulla entro i venticinque, puoi metterti pure il cuore in pace perché vuol dire che sei destinato a restare solo.

"Tutte stronzate, Ni." Gli ricorda Martino, prendedogli il braccio che s'era imbabolato a fissare e baciandogli la pelle immacolata. "Non me ne frega un cazzo qui non ci sia traccia di me, o di chi sia questo Ludovico e perché io c'abbia il suo nome addosso. Chiunque ci voglia dividere può anche cortesemente andarsene a fanculo, okay?"

"Okay, okay." Mormora, placandolo poi con un bacio. Sarà qualche birra di troppo a rendere Martino così sboccato, ma agli occhi di Niccolò è tenero perfino quando si esprime come uno scaricatore di porto.

Ci sono attimi in cui sente che i minuti da trascorrere con Marti sono contati. Teme di poterlo perdere, da un momento all'altro. Altri, come questo preciso istante, che gli ricordano che loro - a differenza di molti altri - si scelgono ogni giorno. Ogni ora, minuto, secondo. Quanti possono dire lo stesso?

Pochissimi. Forse nessuno.  
Tranne loro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avrei voluto si adattasse anche a un prompt della Maritombola ma no, nulla. Per 'divano' mi sa che dovrò scrivere quella drabble dal POV di Anna che ho in mente da più di un mese 😅🤣


	19. Un giorno come un altro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: "Soldi" (M1) per il COWT 11**

Lo sa benissimo, che Niccolò non si aspetta nulla.  
Né per il suo compleanno, che sarà tra poco più una settimana, né tantomeno per oggi. È un giorno come un altro, in fondo.  
Una fredda domenica da passare spaparanzati sul divano, facendosi una maratona dei filmetti più melensi disponibili su Netflix. Non che ventiquattro ore bastino, per sciropparseli tutti.  
Una splendida giornata di sole, perfetta per un pic-nic. Be', forse 'perfetta' quando ci sono meno di 10 gradi è un parolone, ma lui e Nico troveranno senz'altro modi molto piacevoli di scaldarsi... Messa così pare un'ottima prospettiva, no?

Eppure, c'è qualcosa che stona. Si è alzato alle cinque, stamattina, per preparare tutto e non gli sembra abbastanza.  
È tutto così... Scontato. Dozzinale. Vorrebbe potergli dare di più, di questo. Dirgli _'prepara la valigia, che ti porto a fare la vacanza più bella della tua vita'_ , ma poi apre il portafoglio e si rende conto che è meglio tenere a freno la fantasia. Sarebbe bello, però... Portarlo a spasso per l'Europa, concludendo il loro giro proprio per il suo ventiduesimo.  
Invece finirà con la solita festa con gli amici, la stessa di tutti gli anni. Birra, giochi di società, risate per i regali che sono uno più idiota dell'altro - è quasi certo ci sia una sfida a chi trova il più kitsch e inutile, tra i suoi amici - e, per carità, alla fine non è poi così ma.. Che du' palle.

Non poteva nascere ricco sfondato? Così da potergli lasciar sparsi per casa qualcosina di più di post-it e paccottiglia varia, presa perché gli ricordava Nico... Tipo quella una matita con le chiazze della giraffa, sì, esatto.  
Che poi magari ora starebbe comunque a farsi le paranoie, chiedendosi _'ma sarà il caso di sbattergli in faccia che c'ho i soldi? crederà che io stia cercando di comprarmi il suo amore? no, dai, accontentiamoci di andare a mangiare panini seduti in un prato come i povery'_

Gli viene quasi voglia di buttar via tutto e tornarsene a letto. Svegliarsi direttamente il quindici.  
Però non se ne esce, perché rimane comunque la questione di cosa prendergli la settimana prossima.  
Cazzo.

"Ehi, ma come ti permetti di essere triste proprio oggi?" Nico lo fa quasi sobbalzare, baciandogli una guancia. Non l'aveva nemmeno sentito entrare, assorto com'era nei suoi pensieri.

"Perché scusa, che giorno è?" Ribatte, voltandosi verso Niccolò e sgranando teatralmente gli occhi.

"Guarda, Marti, che non sei per nulla credibile." Sussurra, tirandolo verso di sé per poi appoggiare la propria fronte sulla sua. 

"Ah no?" Mormora Martino, a un soffio dalle sue labbra. 

"No." Ribadisce, sorridendogli. Fa scorrere le dita fra i suoi riccioli, reclamando un bacio che li lascia entrambi col fiato corto e le gambe molli. "Che ne diresti, di tornare a letto per festeggiare come si deve?"

Direbbe che è un'ottima idea. Geniale. Straordinaria. 

"Seh, te piacerebbe. No, ho ben altri programmi." Gli dice, invece. Ora che Nico è qui, tutti quei suoi pensieri gli paiono così stupidi. Venali.

"Ah sì? E mi includono, per caso?" Lo interroga, come se già non sapesse la risposta.

"Be', seguimi e lo scoprirai."


	20. Sai già come va (come va, come va)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Scritta per il prompt: "Soldi (Mahmood)" - M1 del COWT #11 (strofa scelta: "in periferia fa molto caldo")**

Non si può certo andare avanti così. La situazione è drammatica.  
Lucia lo sa, perciò ha chiesto al nipote di venire a pranzo e portarsi dietro i suoi amici. Trascinandosi alla periferia di Roma, nonostante il caldo soffocante, in una casa che manco c'ha il condizionatore. Con una cucina che lavora a pieno regime, strabordante di sughi e fritti, e certo non aiuta.  
Ha dovuto mettere un ventilatore, per fargli venire un po' di appetito a tutti quanti... Ah, come sono deboli i giovani d'oggi!

La scusa ufficiale è stata che ci teneva a far vedere alla coppia fissa del gruppo - Niccolò e Martino, i due piccioncini che vengono sempre presi in giro per quanto vivano in simbiosi - che esistono coppie che non solo si sopportano, ma che si continuano ad amare con la stessa intensità anche dopo più di sessant'anni insieme. In realtà, l'anniversario suo e di Giuseppe non era affatto quel giorno e ogni anno la portava al ristorante - per anni quello del loro primo appuntamento poi, da quando l'avevano chiuso, documentandosi attentamente su quale fosse il migliore sul mercato - ma questo non c'era bisogno che lo sapessero. 

Così come era meglio fossero all'oscuro del vero scopo di quell'invito. Nutrire quello scricciolo, tutto pelle e ossa.  
Si è riunita più e più volte con le altre nonne per trovare una soluzione, ma i vostri sforzi sembrano non sembrano ottenere alcun risultato.  
A ogni visita, anzi, pare sempre più sciupato. Quale sarà la causa, poi? Sarà così di costituzione? Oppure non c'hai i soldi per comprarsi da mangiare?  
Potrebbe darsi. Pure lei e Peppino, i primi tempi, s'erano trovati a dover risparmiare fino all'ultimo centesimo per avere il pane in tavola. E poi questo ragazzino è pure un artista! Sarà convinto di poter sopravvivere solo d'amore. 

"E dai, Nicolì, fammi 'sto piacere... Mangiane un altro po' !" Incalza, schiaffandogli una bella porzione di parmigiana nel piatto. "Ti piacciono le melanzane, no?"

"Eccome!" Annuisce, entusiasta. 

"'Nessuno aveva dubbi al riguardo..." Se la ride Elia, sgomitando con i suoi degni compari. Giovanni alza gli occhi al cielo, ma sorride. Luchino lo guarda confuso, senza capire il riferimento. Martino, invece, rischia quasi strozzarsi col vino e Niccolò - che fino a quel momento aveva finto di non aver sentito - accorre in suo soccorso colpendolo più volte sulla schiena.

"Allora, qual è il problema gioia mia? So' troppo condite? Troppo fritte? Sei fissato con i cibi salutisti o con la dieta, come Silvietta? Ma se basterebbe un alito di vento a portarvi via, tutt'e due!" Pure a lei non farebbe male mettere su qualche chilo, glielo ha ripetuto più volte! E forse sta iniziando a crederci, perché oggi sta mangiando più del solito... Son soddisfazioni. "O è la mozzarella? Guarda che lo puoi dire, a nonna, se sei intollerante, vegano o c'hai qualche altra strana fissa." 

"Che poi, alle donne così secco mica piaci." Interviene il marito. A sproposito, come tende spesso a fare. Vive in un modo tutto suo, tendendo a isolarsi specie quando ha troppe persone intorno. Il suo adorabile orso.  
"Peppì, ma che stai a dì che c'ha il ragazzo suo qui al tavolo?" Sbotta, dandogli un bel coppino sul collo. "E già come convivono, come noi alla loro età! Non è tenero, che ci sia ancora chi crede al vero amore e non se lo faccia scappare, aspettando chissà cosa?"  
"Sì, sì... Scusate." Borbotta, massaggiandosi la parte offesa. "Be', anche se non devi far colpo su nessuno... mica vorrai far pensare che Martino ti faccia fare la fame, no?"

Ecco, questo lo fa finalmente capitolare. Chi lo avrebbe mai detto. E bravo Peppino!

"Mangio soltanto più questo, però, signora... Non mi starebbe altro." Se la gusta con tutta calma, ricordandole un po' i bambini che tendono a metterci un secolo per finire la portata proprio per non farsi riempire nuovamente il piatto. Messaggio ricevuto, non insisterà oltre. Okay rimpolparlo un po', ma non è certo il caso di farlo stare male. 

Piuttosto è meglio dargli un po' di contanti, così può andarsi a comprare tutto quello che gli piace. Hanno fatto colletta tutte assieme, lei e le sue amiche, per sfamarlo. Non è molto, ma per farsi un bel giro in gastronomia e mangiare come si deve dovrebbe bastare.

"No, davvero, non posso accettare." Le restituisce subito la busta, stringendo le sue mani nelle proprie e baciandole con gratitudine.

"Cosa fai i complimenti! Prendili, che sennò m'offendo!" Non si scoraggia, e gliela infila con decisione nella tasca della felpa. "E Martì, diglielo pure te a Nico tuo che così sta troppo sciupato, eh...?"

"Agli ordini, signora!" Fa il saluto militare, sorridendo al fidanzato. Si scambiano uno sguardo d'intesa, già d'accordo che alla prima occasione li restituiranno a Luca e lui li farà in qualche modo riavere alla nonna. Apprezzano il gesto, però.

"Marti! Pensavo di piacerti così come sono." Arriccia le labbra in un broncio, che viene prontamente scacciato con un bacio. Due. Quattro. Sei. Otto.

"Sì, vabbé, abbiamo capito." Sbuffa Sana, separandoli. "Non state qui a farci tutta la tabellina del due con i vostri bacetti a stampo, che dovremmo anche andare..." 

Prima di poter uscire, si ritrovano tutti con almeno una borsa di avanzi che dovranno provare di aver terminato nei giorni seguenti. Con tanto di foto. Pena la radiazione dalla lista di coloro che sono i benvenuti a casa di nonna Lucia e di tutte le altre sue 'socie'.  
Se lo son studiate bene, il loro piano. Non oseranno sgarrare.  
Vero?


End file.
